


Falcon vs Patriot, or That One Time Steve Started a Bar Fight Over Sports

by LizzieHarker



Series: A Comedy of Arrows [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Hawkeye (Comics)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, I know nothing of sports ball, Steve starting bar fights and Bucky losing bets, sniper bros, sports ball
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 09:45:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9602297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizzieHarker/pseuds/LizzieHarker
Summary: I have no knowledge of sports ball other than Something was happening today. As I live in Georgia, people kept cheering for the Falcon. Now, I love Sam Wilson, I do, but I'm not real sure what Avenging has to do with football.And then this happened.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I have no knowledge of sports ball other than Something was happening today. As I live in Georgia, people kept cheering for the Falcon. Now, I love Sam Wilson, I do, but I'm not real sure what Avenging has to do with football. 
> 
> And then this happened.

“Okay, this looks bad,” Clint said, sticking the butterfly bandage over Bucky’s eyebrow. He’d already patched up Bucky’s busted nose, but there was little he could do for the collection of bruises along his arm and ribs. He’d heal quickly enough, but damn it, this was not how he wanted his day going.

“And then Steve clocks him,” Bucky continued. “Shatters his nose. Blood everywhere. The bartender’s having a fit, and the rest of bar erupts into a fight.” Bucky hadn’t even gotten to drink his whiskey before the shit hit the fan. 

Clint gave a low whistle, impressed. “Captain America starting bar fights. I don’t believe it.” He paused, a line appearing between his brows. “Actually, I do.”

“Steve Rogers, picking fights since 1934. Gotta admit though, punching Nazis is kinda what he does.”

“So what happened?”

Bucky sighed. Damn, his ribs hurt. “Much as I love watching Steve punch Na—uh, Patriot guys, I got in the middle and tried to break up the fight.”

“And that’s when the bartender kicked you out?”

“Nope,” Bucky answered. “That’s when the Patriot guy broke my nose, and Steve took his ass down. _Then_ we got thrown out of the bar.”

Clint nodded in appreciation. “Sucks, bro.”

“Yeah. We’re banned for life. I liked that place, too.” Steve had fumed and cursed the whole way home. Bucky nursed a headache. He was pretty sure he was getting at least one black eye outta this.

The blond leaned back, watching the game. “So who’re you rootin’ for?”

Bucky twisted his mouth. “Well, I’m partial to _my_ patriot, but I gotta go with Falcon on this one. Up-field advantage, speed, dexterity.” Bucky shrugged. “S’gotta good shot at winning. You?”

“Same, bro. Though I gotta say, Patriot ain’t half bad. I’m surprised you didn’t side with him.”

Bucky shrugged. “We’ve got a bet going.”

They watched as Sam launched himself out of range, Steve stumbling as he failed to snatch the flag from Sam’s belt. Bucky and Clint had long since lost, though Bucky had been disappointed he didn’t have the chance to square off against Steve. Then again, they all knew where that particular match would head. Buck would make up for it later.

“Gotta do better than that, Cap!” Sam called, dropping back down and swiping the blue flag from Steve’s side. The only way to even the playing field was letting Sam use his wings. However, there was a strict “No Redwing” policy in play. “One down, one to go.”

Steve bounced back, shaking his head. “I could do this all day.”

Bucky laughed. Steve wore his own collection of cuts, scrapes, and bruises, but he’d never been one to step down from a challenge, flag football included. Steve ripped the red flag away from Sam as Sam tried to evade. He flicked it over his shoulder, then turned to Bucky and Clint. “You sure you guys don’t wanna play?”

Bucky and Clint exchanged a look. The pair of them were equally bruised and bandaged.

“We’re good,” they said. 

“C’mon. It’s fun!” Steve smiled, dodging Sam’s attack. 

“I don’t care for contact sports, Cap” Clint said.

“I’ve always been more of a baseball guy,” Bucky added. “Beside, if I’m playing, I won’t get to enjoy the view.” 

Steve shrugged, a faint blush rising in his cheeks, and returned to the game. Watching Stevie run around in form fitting pants was almost as good as watching him run around in uniform.

“So your money’s on Falcon?” Clint asked.

Bucky smirked. “You bet Steve’s sweet ass it is.” 

Clint gave him a skeptical look. “Why do I get the feeling that’s more literal than not?”

“Because we spend too much time together, Barton. And because it is. Bettin’ against the house is a risky move, but well worth it.”

“Don’t wanna know,” Clint said.

“Ain’t gonna tell ya.”

Suddenly, Clint sat forward. “Oh, shit.” 

Bucky turned his attention back to the field in time to see Steve whip the second flag from Sam’s belt. Sam collapsed the wings and landed. Bucky dropped his head into his hands. “Oh, Falcon, no.”

Steve shook Sam’s hand before heading over to them. “Aw, what’s the matter, sweetheart?”

“Oh, nothing,” Bucky said. It so was not his day. “I got my nose broken, pulled Captain America out of bar fight, didn’t get to drink my whiskey, and I’ve lost a bet. Call it Sunday.”

Clint failed to stifle his laugh. Bucky glared. “What? Look, bro, you’re the one who made the bet. How bad is it?”

“Real bad. The worst. I’d rather break up another bar fight.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “He has to do the laundry for two weeks. Most of it’s his, anyway.”

Clint whistled, clapping Bucky’s shoulder. “Harsh, man. I don’t envy you. Good luck.”

Bucky winced. 

“At least you don’t have to do it in a maid’s outfit,” Clint offered. 

Bucky sighed, letting Steve pull him to his feet. 

Sam and Clint exchanged at look at Bucky’s silence and Steve’s poorly concealed smirk. Where Steve had managed to find a supersoldier-sized pinafore was beyond him, not to mention the fishnets. At least Bucky didn’t have to wear heels.

“I don’t wanna know,” Sam muttered, hands up as he walked away. 

“Well,” Clint said, “good luck, bro.” He slugged Bucky’s shoulder. “If it’s any consolation, I bet you’ll look fantastic.”

Bucky buried his face in Steve’s shoulder. Pain shot through him. Damn broken nose. 

Steve put his arm around him. “That’ll teach you not to bet against me.”

“You didn’t wanna play until I threw in that comment about the maid outfit.”

“C’mon, Buck. You should have known that was incentive. If there’s one thing I’m better at than gettin’ into fights, it’s being stubborn enough to get what I want.”

Bucky let Steve pull him back up to their loft. “And you want me showin’ off my assets in a flimsy polyester dress?”

Steve snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous, Buck. It’s silk, and you bet your sweet ass I do.”

**Author's Note:**

> Um, apparently what I write comes true.  
> Turns out Chris took Renner to the game, so...
> 
> ...yeah.


End file.
